Mavis' Missives
by L. E. Wigman
Summary: Letters to and from Mavis Newkirk. Credit for the idea goes to Old English Game and Abracadebra.
1. Mavis: My Love Life

AN: It started with Prolegomenon's 'To Colonel RE Hogan', then Abracadebra jumped into the mix with 'Dear Mavis, Are You Bloody Well Kidding Me?"... my brain just wouldn't let me work on anything else 'til I finished this. It's a response to Abracadebra's letter in Chapter 3. I hope you enjoy ;)

* * *

Dear Peter, (happy now?)

I will write to whoever I like, thank you. As a matter of fact, when it comes to my love life, you can just keep your nose out of it! I'm not some little kiddie totting after you and your mates, begging to come along to the shops. And you're a fine one to talk, anyway. I saw Rita at the cinema the other night with Jack Pierson. She hardly spoke to words to me, but said to tell you that it will take more than a pair of stockings to get back in her good graces.

Don't worry too much, she'll calm down. I stepped out with Jack a fortnight back and believe me, he's no prince charming. Rita will have to write you, if for no other reason than sheer boredom!

What's this? I swear, Peter, you could sell oil to the Arabs. The only cure I know of is a bit of beefsteak. I don't suppose you'd be able to get your hands on that, huh? Lord knows we haven't seen on of those since before the war. Bea - one of the girls at the motor pool - says those Yankee generals have them flown in every day from Texas, but I think she's a bit daft.

I'm nattering on again, aren't I?

Please try not to get lynched by your fellow prisoners, and don't give those guards any fuss, either. I want you home in one piece.

Mam sends her love. She'll try to write as soon as she can. She's been busy with the relocation folk helping them poor families what's been made homeless thanks to Jerry. But don't worry about us, we keep our heads down and spirits up as best we can. If you can manage to do the same, I'll try and get you an extra bit of something special next month.

Sending you all my love, you silly git,

Mavis

P.S. Don't worry too much about all those handsome, young GIs... all they have going for them is the scotch and Hershey bars. As you well know, they aren't my cuppa.


	2. Kinch: The Brother Test

Miss Newkirk,

Since the guys in barracks two found out about your correspondence with the Colonel, we've all been wondering if you'd have the time to write us, too. If I'm being completely candid, I'd say we're all a little bit jealous of Newkirk's devoted family. We have a few letters every month, but Newkirk seems to have about twenty!

Newkirk tells me that you love Shakespeare, may I ask your favorite reads? I've always been fond of his sonnets, myself. I have several of them committed to memory. I'd share them, except Newkirk's been insistent about reading everyone's letters to you. Well, that's not entirely true… he's yet to pull that demand on Colonel Hogan. Unfortunately, poor LeBeau has written and rewritten his letter about three times. He was being - in Newkirk's words - 'damned suggestive and too bloody improper'. I still don't think it's passed the brother test. I think I'll wait to slide this into the box until after LeBeau's written his fourth try.

Please don't feel any obligation to reply. I know you've a lot on your plate and I certainly don't want to add to it.

Regards,

James Kinchloe


	3. Mavis: Doing My Bit

I'm having a blast with this little round robin. Hopefully I'll have another set up tomorrow. Cheers.

* * *

James,

Please, call me Mavis. It would be my great honour to write you and your mates some letters. I don't feel as if I'm doing my part here at home. You and Peter, you all had the hard bit. I'm just filing papers and typing reports.

You shouldn't listen to my brother and should write what you like. Peter's got stuffing for brains and the imagination of a billy goat. I'm an admirer of the comedies: The Merchant of Venice, Love's Labour's Lost, and The Taming of the Shrew. Though, I beg you not to tell my brother about that last one. He would never let me hear the end of it! I'd very much like to hear your favorite sonnets.

I'd love to hear more about you. Robert speaks so highly of you and when he's not being an arse, so does Peter. Family? Friends? Who were you before you were Sergeant James Kinchloe?

Forgive my nosiness, I'm just curious about Peter's mates.

Cheers,

Mavis


	4. Mavis: Honey Biscuits

AN: Response to Abracadebra's Burn Night letter. LeBeau's letter will be up next ;)

* * *

Dear brother of mine,

I'm sorry. Things have been a bit topsy-turvy for the past few weeks. Don't bother asking why. It's work and the censors will just cut it out. Speaking of those blighters, they've pulled four of my letters - two for you and one each for James and Robert. They pulled me in last Monday for a right sound bolloxing. The censor was a Yank and he thought I was writing in bloody code. Me, writing to you in code. Now isn't that a laugh?

I don't blame Robert one bit. I've seen you on Burn Night and I swear it's just another excuse for you to tie one on. At least I think that's what Tom calls it. Not sure why. Crazy Americans.

Just don't take it too far. Nobody can drink a Scot under the table… except maybe the Irish.

I'll talk to Mam about your cure when she gets back from Wales. Aunt Gwynedd took a fall and sprained her foot. Mam's out for the weekend and won't be back until tomorrow night. I tell you, Peter, it's been bedlam here at the flat. Kiddies running off and giving me the fright of a lifetime! I suppose this means I'll make a rubbish mum. Or maybe I'm just a rubbish sister? Aren't you glad I was an absolute angel when I was a tyke?

I'll try to write a bit more often, but with work I'll not be swearing to it. Just in case I don't, you remember what I said: keep your head down and try not to get any more black eyes until Mam gets back. I'm quite fond of you, you know.

Love as always,

Mavis

P.S. If you'll be able to forgive me, I'll send you a batch of Mam's biscuits which I've whipped up as a bribe for the kids. Made with honey instead of sugar, but they're good enough.


	5. LeBeau: Joyeux Noël

Mademoiselle Newkirk,

It is my sincere pleasure to be writing you. Pierre speaks of you so often that I feel we are already the dearest of friends. Your brother has been skulking about, poking through everything in the barracks to find this letter. But I have hidden it well, under the all of the oats. He hasn't touched them since I applied my remedy to his eye.

This morning is the last chance to send this to England before Christmas slows everything down. The filthy bosche have to ransack the post for what they can pilfer before they can give it to us and the holidays are their busiest time. So I colluded with Olsen and Garlotti - a half-German and an Italian, zut alors - to keep him occupied long enough for me to finish this and get it onto the truck.

I have listened to Kinch's letter, so I can guess what your next letter will be. Since your brother's antics have taken a toll on my paper ration, I will anticipate and reply.

I was a chef at the Chez la Mer in Paris. The dishes I could create in that kitchen! Ah, it makes me weep inside when I am presented with tinned herring and dried eggs. Not to even speak of the horrors Americans call 'Oleo' and 'Spam'. What I could do with a succulent turkey. The garlic and thyme. The wine! A Bordeaux Blanc, I think. Perhaps a Chardonnay.

I could go on, but Andre had just given me the signal that Pierre is onto us. Be well, mademoiselle. Joyeux Noël,

L. LeBeau

P.S. I could, as Pierre fears, romance you, but I hold him and by extension you in too much regard. Despite what he has told you I am a gentleman and honourable soldier of France.

* * *

The long awaited LeBeau letter. I hope to have a Mavis reply soon, but my D-Day entry will likely take all of my time until then, so I wouldn't plan on it any time soon. Cheers.


	6. Mam and Mavis

Peter,

Sorry! Mam came home and I forgot to tuck your letters away. She found them and was awfully upset. She locked herself in the back bedroom for the past three hours and I think she was crying. I don;t think she appreciated our teasing banter. She finally came out a few moments ago with a folded sheet of paper and told me to send it with mine to save postage. Then she went back to her room. I'm dying to know what she says, but I don't dare look at it. She was quiet... too quiet. The kiddies aren't sure what to make of it either. I have to get them off to bed, so write soon and let me know what she says.

Praying all is well and sending my love,

Mavis

* * *

My dear lad,

I just got back from Wales. Aunt Gwynedd sends her love. I was so disappointed to read your last letter to Mavis. You should know that your aunt hasn't had an easy time of it since your Uncle Walter died in that bomb raid in 1940. So she drinks a bit; that's hardly a reason to make light of her misery. She deserves our love and support, not whispers and jokes. And don't worry, I'll be giving little Miss Mavis the same lecture.

I also read of your Burn Night activities. I sincerely hope to read about your observance of Lent and Easter Mass in the next few letters. I promise you, my lad, I will get you to heaven if I have to drag you kicking and screaming. Just like when you were 14 and dead set on skipping Christmas Mass. You put up such a fuss until you went into the bedroom to change. You never did tell me what made you come out of there with a smile on your face...

Mavis has been nagging me about my 'special cure' for black eye, but won't tell me why. I see she was really badgering me on your behalf. Really, Peter, I should hope that you'd think me able to hear of your quarrels without wilting like a violet. As for the cure, I don't really know what your on about... I gave you a cool, damp cloth and put you to bed with a hot toddy and half a sleeping pill. Of course, your black eyes were always accompanied with other, more serious injuries. How you always managed to make it back home is a mystery and a miracle.

You'd tell me the truth, if you were hurt seriously, wouldn't you?

Never mind. I don't want to be responsible for another one of your lies. Goodness knows how many I'm responsible for in your growing up years. Adults always have a bad habit of making things a frightful mess and sticking you with the pick up. If we'd done things better the last time around, then maybe you wouldn't be where you are now. If I'd done better, a lot of things would be different with you, with Mavis, with your Da. I'm sorry, luv. So sorry.

Please keep safe and well. I'll light a candle for you and your mates at church.

Love always,

Mam

* * *

AN: Two things... One, this one is very sad and the sentiment is based on how I read and interpreted Mary Newkirk's look back on her life as portrayed in 'In the Name of the Father' by Abracadebra (If you haven't read it then I recommend doing so... immediately!)  
Two, DO NOT take alcohol and sleeping pills at the same time. Both are depressants and will seriously harm you if taken at the same time. That seems obvious, but I just want to make that perfectly clear.


	7. Kinch: Sonnet 116

Mavis,

I hear you, and I feel the same way. Before I was moved to a combat role, I spent most of my time on reports. I had calluses and blisters on the inside of that middle, right-hand finger. I had a buddy - Thomas - who was so gung-ho that he went on every mission he could. He even went so far as to bribe the duty officer to rotate him in. My point is, it's always hard for those of us who have to sit in the background, twiddling our thumbs, and waiting for word. But believe me, the military runs on reports and the job you do is invaluable. We just have to keep steady and focus on the next task at hand. I know everything will work out.

Rest assured, Miss Mavis, your secrets are completely safe with me. And so far as I know, your brother hasn't taken to snooping in my mail. He sure listens when we read them out, face beaming with so much pride. 'That's me Mavis,' he'll say. 'Got all the smarts she did. Going places she is. Just you wait and see." but back to the sonnets:

Let me not to the marriage of true minds  
Admit impediments. Love is not love  
Which alters when it alteration finds,  
Or bends with the remover to remove.  
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark  
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;  
It is the star to every wandering bark,  
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.  
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks  
Within his bending sickle's compass come;  
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,  
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.  
If this be error and upon me proved,  
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

I also enjoy sonnets 130 and 29, however, were I to write them all, I'd finish off the last of my paper ration and I still have to write home!

I don't mind nosiness; after all, how can we talk without sharing some the details of our lives? Let's see, as far as family goes: My mother and father are still at home in Detroit. According to their letters, all is well. Thriving was they word they used. But just like Peter, I often wonder if they only write half the story; whether I'm receiving all the good and none of the bad. Some of that good was sent with their most recent letter (it was dated back in March, but for us that's recent). My sister, Monica, is engaged. I'm happy for her, but my deepest regret is that I won't be there to play piano for her. It was something she'd ask while I spent my hour a day running the scales when we were little.

It's funny to contemplate how different life would be without this war. Right about now I'd be working on my final year of university in Ohio; studying Shakespeare instead of just reading it. I'd never have considered a trip to Europe. I suppose I should be thankful that this one was free, though the accommodations leave much to be desired!

Schultz has just called for the evening roll, so I must go. I hope this letter finds you well.

Regards,

James

P.S. Peter sends his love. He'd be writing you himself, but a little tiff over baseball with Carter has landed them both in the cooler for a few days. Nothing serious, but he'll miss the mail truck.

* * *

Author's Note: I'd forgotten about these for a minute. I have a couple more that I'd started and we'll see if I can get them out. Cheers.


	8. Mavis: Finally!

Monsieur LeBeau,

I was beginning to think I would never hear from the amazing chef who can turn Red Cross packs into a meal fit for a king! Or perhaps the letter had been lost on the dangerous journey from there to here, but now I know it was Peter interfering with the post. Sometimes I think he's willfully thick. Even a pillock like him should know that if there's two people you don't mess with, it's the doctor and the chef! Yet if Wilson's letters are even half of what goes on with him, he routinely does so to both of you. I know why I have to put up with it, but why do you?

Regardless, I'm pleased to finally receive your letter and on Valentine's no less! Truth be told, I'd not mind a bit of postal romance. It'd give me something to show the girls down at work. They've all but given up all hope of me having a steady beau; and perhaps they're right... maybe I am too choosy, but a girl can only be pawed so long before she lets go of the prince charming fairy tales. I thought officers would be better, but they aren't. Don't tell Robert I said that!

Mmm, that's sounds wonderful! Much better than the tinned ham we had for Christmas dinner. I'm telling you, I _still _have indigestion! Mam tried to tell me it was okay, but I think she was coddling me. But I'll fully admit I am a lousy cook. What I wouldn't give to have some of that succulent turkey. Perhaps you could make me some after the war, hmm?

But enough about food - my stomach is rumbling already - tell me more about you. From what the other guys write, you seem to be the one to keep them all out of Wilson's infirmary. What a task that must be with Peter. He's always had ill health when he was a lad and he never lets anyone take care of him. And knowing Peter, he likely hasn't thanked you for it. More likely, he's complained and growled with hopes that you'll leave him be. Well, don't believe it for a minute. He has no bite at all! Believe me when I say Mam and I thank you and appreciate the care more than you can know.

Best wishes,

Mavis


	9. Carter: Where To Start?

Dear Miss Mavis Newkirk,

I've tried to write this letter about twelve times, but no sooner than I start, I get stuck. How do you write to someone you've never met? What do you talk about?

Newkirk said that it's a sign I shouldn't write you at all. But after Kinch read you last letter aloud, it hit me. We _don't _know anything about each other. Except maybe what Newkirk's told you in his stories, but sometimes I think he's not very fair in how he tells stories. He likes to change them a little bit to make them more exciting. I thought it was lying, cause Reverend Daniels said it was, but Newkirk says it's just using a bit of imagination which isn't the same thing at all. I'm not sure that's true, but gee I don't want to make Newkirk angry. He gets that way sometimes when he's frustrated.

Anyways, I thought a lot about what I wanted to write and I talked it over with Wilson - he's the camp's medic in case you didn't know. We like to go to him instead of Doctor Klemp, the camp doctor, because Doctor Klemp only comes on Tuesday mornings and Friday afternoons. Newkirk said he's a ghoul - I suppose he looks a little like that with his long thin face, his hollow cheeks and no smile - he also says that those pills he prescribes are nothing but sugar pills. I bit into one once and they aren't sugar pills. I tried to ask for one to analyse, but Doctor Klemp wouldn't let me have it and now he always checks my mouth and under my tongue to make sure I've swallowed it.

Anyway, I spoke to Wilson and he said I should just tell you about me. Then you could tell me about you and we'd know each other. So here goes:  
My name is Andrew J. Carter. The jay stands for Jonathan, but don't tell the fellas. They have a betting pool running - thanks to Newkirk - that they can guess it before the end of the war. No one has though. I was born and lived in Bull Frog(not Frog Junction!), North Dakota until I was seven. Then we moved to Muncie, where Pa got a job with the state. But they were married on the Reservation and at the Church, of course. Ma wouldn't give up her Sioux ceremony and Pa wouldn't give up his Christian ceremony. I asked him once why they got married and he said he just knew the first time he saw her that she was the one for him. Ma always jumps in right after that statement to tell me that love is something that grows in time, not all at once. I don't know. I thought I'd had that with Mary-Jane. I knew from the first time I laid eyes on her in second grade, I knew I wanted to talk to her and spend time with her. Then I did and just like Ma said, it came up all slow-like and I just loved her. I knew I was gonna marry that girl. She just forgot to wait.

I have a lot of sisters and one brother, though not as many siblings as you and Newkirk. I'm the oldest. Well, oldest boy. My sister, Lizzy is just shy of a year older. Our birthdays are two weeks apart!

I'm studying to become pharmacist. Mr. Todd is getting on and I practically ran the shop before the war, so he said that I could buy it after I get my license from the starte. Ma was sure pleased; she thought I'd be in trouble all the time after the accident in the lab at school. I try to keep studying so that when the war is over and I go home, I can just take the exam when I'm discharge from the Army. I do try, but most of the time it's too busy to concentrate and I get distracted. The Colonel says I should get one of the guys to help me drill, but they just don't get the chemistry - even with the book! I'm not mad about it, but it sure would be nice to get home, pass the exam, and buy that shop with my back pay before Mr. Todd forgets, too.

I miss all my family, not just my folks. My cousin in Bull Frog writes couple of months and lets me know what's happening on the Reservation. And my Pa's side writes from Minnesota pretty often. I'm awful blessed in the letter department. I usually get two or three with every mail truck and I feel kinda bad starting up letters with you, because some of the guys - like Scotty and Addison - don't get but one or two every other mail truck. I think it upsets them; they don't say so, but you can see the disappointment plain as day when Schultz says there's nothing for them. I do wanna thank you, ma'am, it can't be easy keeping up with all these letters and the mailman must think it's pretty strange, but to see their faces when they get one... well, it's worth hearing Newkirk complain.

I have to close this letter. It's my turn to help LeBeau with the laundry, I told him I'd be finished almost ten minutes ago and he's starting to get impatient. So I'll say thanks again and goodbye.

Sincerely,

Andrew J. Carter


	10. Mavis: No Tears

AN: This is referencing chapters 17,18, and 19 of Abracadebra's '_Mavis, Are You Bloody Well Kidding Me?'_

* * *

Peter Newkirk, I could crown you. What were you thinking writing to Da like that? He came over to-night, showed it to Mam and they talked. They're still talking in the sitting room with those quiet just above a whisper tones like when we were little.

He cried, Pete. From what I overheard from the kitchen - don't tut-tut me for eavesdropping. I have a bloody right to know what's going on - he didn't know what he was doing all those years. He really didn't know how bad it hurt. Why didn't he know, Pete? How can someone wreck a family, tear it up time and again, and not know?

He told me after his first visit that he wants to start over with a clean slate; that he's squared things with his Majesty and now he wants to square with us. I want to. Lord knows I want that more than anything, always have… but how can I? It's hard not to feel like a bloody fool sitting in Mass praying for him to come back home. Of course, when he did, he'd be drunk off his arse before a fortnight's past and back to his old tricks by the end of a month.

Don't worry about tears, I've not had any left to waste on him. I'm sure by now news of the invasion has reached even Stalag 13. My mate, Bea's young American fell on the beaches. That lad from Bristol I was getting to know made it a week before he got himself killed. You know me, a bit of a tease, but I really started to care for him. Enough of my woes. If Mam knew I was troubling you like this, she'd give me another bolloxing.

I'm pleased the betty was such a hit. I'll try to send more sugar cubes next week when I get my paycheque. It feels like prices are always going up. One pence here; a thruppenny there. Just last month, Grimly on the corner was hauled in by the coppers for profiteering. His old lady's put the shop up for sale, but I'd be surprised if she gets more than a couple hundred quid. Lines are long and meat scarce. You'd think with all you lads away at war there'd be more than enough to go around for the rest of us.

_Peter, it's Maggie. I ain't had a letter in ages! Not since Valentine's at least. I espect something in the next post or so help me, I'll stow away on a submarine and march all the way to Berlin to see you! _

She's as sneaky as you are! Made out like Mam wanted me just to get me away from the desk long enough to write that. Seriously, send her something even if it's just a postscript. She checks the post daily, sometimes twice a day. It's getting so Mr. Hastings sees her more than we do!

Keep going to those services between me, Mam, and Robert, we'll have you into a decent member of the community by war's end. Not like before with all that pick-pocketing and forgery. Bet you thought I didn't know about all your sordid activities, hmm? By the way, Alf said to send you some luck, that you'd need it now more than ever. Just what did he mean? Are you telling your secrets to him and not me?

Your offended and more than a bit hurt sister,

Mav

P.S I love you too, you daft sod.


End file.
